Those Awkward Moments (Episode 18)

“YOU DID WHAT?! KEVIN, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!”

These were the first words out of Samuel’s mouth the moment I came to the highlight of my narration of my encounter with Ryan Bassey three days ago. At his shouted response, I involuntarily took my phone away from my ear. His voice had progressively climbed to a fever pitch.

“Jeez,” I said with a grimace. “You don’t have to shout like so just to let me know you’re pissed, you know.”

“Don’t be a smart-mouth, Kevin!” he snapped. “And it’s official. You’re a dead man walking! What the hell were you thinking threatening a man that could possibly purchase half of Nigeria, huh?”

I sighed. “Honestly speaking, I’m not sure I was!”

“See?!” my friend exclaimed again.

I frowned as I reached for the gold watch on my dressing table, using my shoulder to hold the phone in place against my ear as I strapped the accessory to my wrist. “Come on, Samuel. You should have been there. The man was seriously being an ass. You would have done the same thing.”

“No, I wouldn’t!” he huffed as I walked over to my wardrobe and brought out a pair of my work shoes. I was walking back to the bed to put it on as he continued, “Kevin, are you hearing yourself? The man was being an ass? May I remind you that a majority of Nigerian bosses are asses? Heck, employers the world over are asses. It doesn’t mean their employees should go around blackmailing them. This is just typical!”

I was squeezing my left foot into the second shoe when he paused from his tirade, and his words prompted me to wonder how things would have been if I had just let Chief Bassey carry on with his reign of terror over us. Maybe then, I wouldn’t be this anxious three days after the fact, and my closest friend wouldn’t be so disappointed in me right now.

And then, like a recording scratching to a stop, I veered away from my introspection as the last part of Samuel’s words nudged its way into my consciousness. An instant spurt of anger flickered to life inside me and I snapped, “Wait a minute, what did you say?”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘this is just typical’. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing –”

“No, say it! I want to hear what I did that is so typical.”

“Okay, fine. Ever since what happened to Jude happened –”

“Oh my God, are you kidding me,” I groaned, rolling my eyes as I interrupted him.

“See what I’m talking about?” Samuel shot back. “It’s not enough that you insulted Demoniker that first day. Now you’re blackmailing your boss, and complaining every time I talk about Jude. It’s like you’re a whole different person now, like –”

“Look, Samuel, I didn’t call you so you could judge me or psych diagnose me, okay?” I snapped again. His rant was starting to get on my last nerve. A part of me was mad that he wasn’t even trying to understand me, but another part of me was mad at me that I didn’t understand me either. “I know what I did was stupid. What I need now is my friend’s advice on how to handle the matter. That’s all!”

Samuel sighed, paused for a moment, and then said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just pissed, that’s all.”

“I get it,” I said in a mellowed tone.

“I mean, that was a very irresponsible thing to do –”

“I said I get it!” I interrupted, instantly getting riled up again.

“Do you? Because I don’t think so. Our friend – my childhood friend was shot, lost five years worth of memory and is now in a coma. Who knows how many more years he’s going to lose when he wakes up? You’re all I have left, and I won’t be saying that for long if you keep doing crazy stuff that could get you killed.”

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic. I’m not going to get killed.”

“Oh! Be talking like that. Don’t you watch all these Hollywood TV shows? Murder is not limited to the streets anymore. It’s in the music business too.”

I chuckled as I got up from my bed and walked to the full length mirror to examine myself and every single piece of outfit I was putting on, to see if they matched.

He laughed as well.

“But guy, seriously,” I said, “wetin I fit do to handle this matter? The man changed his mind about the songs oh, let us have that victory. But the way he looked at me that morning in the studio as he told us the songs could stay in Demoniker’s album…” I shuddered at the memory of the carefully deadpan expression on Chief Bassey’s face as he looked at me. The expression seemed so deliberately worn on his face that I just knew there was a wealth of ill will churning behind it.

Samuel said, “Okay, are you going to see him at work today?”

“No, I’m not sure,” I answered hesitantly. “Demoniker and some of them studio types are flying to South Africa this morning for a one-week concert. I think he’ll be going with them.”

“Oh good. One week is enough time for him to forget about the whole thing. Wait, why aren’t you going with them?”

“First of all, Chief Bassey may be advanced in age, but I’m pretty sure he has a sound memory. Blackmail from your employee is hardly something you’d forget in a week. And secondly, you seem to forget there is a pregnant woman living in my house. I can’t just up and jet off to a different country.”

And just like that, as if she had been waiting for me to talk about her, Mother called out all the way from the sitting room. “EMEKA!”

Only then did I remember that she’d been waiting out there for me all the while I was on the phone with Samuel.

“I’m coming!” I yelled back. I got back to my phone conversation in time to hear Samuel finish a sentence.

“Huh?”

“I said, what’s going on there?”

I began walking out of the room. “Oh yeah, I’m accompanying my mum to the hospital en route to work. She’s having her second ultrasound.”

“Seriously?!” I could hear the excitement in Samuel’s voice. “Do you guys need like a ride there or something?”

I scoffed, realising just then that I’d left my backpack in the room. I stopped midstride in the small corridor and made back for my room.

“Emeka ooohhh!” Mother hollered.

“Just a minute, mum!” I hollered back. And then to Samuel, I said, “Thanks buddy, but we’re good. Though I wouldn’t mind you giving me that advice now.”

“Oh! It’s pretty simple really. Just avoid the man, that’s all! And most importantly, Do NOT tell anyone else that he’s fucking Demoniker!”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” I said, feeling disappointed that he’d just told me things I already knew. “I’ve successfully avoided him for the past three days already.”

“That’s because that was the weekend. But it is Monday today. So you better follow the rules or pray to your God he went to South Africa with them.”

I reached for my backpack, slung it over my shoulder, and headed back out.

“CHU-KWU-E-ME-KA OOOHH!” Mother called out my name yet again, this time pronouncing every syllable with force.

“Okay, Sam, I have to go. This woman is demanding for me like she’s in labour or something.”

“Wait, wait!” Samuel said hastily, cutting off my disconnection of the call.

“Yea?”

“You know a bit about creative writing, right?”

“Yea?” I replied, a puzzled look forming on my face. “What about it?”

He lowered his voice suggestively. “I was thinking maybe you could write me like a detailed story on what you saw in the broom closet that day –”

“Are you asking me to write you an erotica, Samuel Olawale?” I said with a gasp of mock-disbelief.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Ugh! You’re worse than a pervert!”

“Aww come on. Just –”

“Goodbye, Samuel.” And I disconnected the call with an amused shake of my head.

I was back in the corridor when my phone vibrated with the receipt of a text message. I brought it up to my face and swiped my index finger across the screen to open the message.

It was from Kuddus, and it read: Can’t wait for tonight.

A quick smile flitted across my face. In the course of the past three days, we’d talked a number of times on the phone, and had eventually come to veto the idea of dinner as our first date. Actually, I vetoed the idea, and he quickly came round to it. We’d settled on seeing a Muson play tonight.

I didn’t know what I was doing, going out on a date with Kuddus, and I couldn’t tell if my heart was pounding at this moment from anticipation or dread, and a faint whisper in my mind kept nudging my betrayal of Jude to the forefront of my mind – all this, and yet the smile remained on my face as I typed back: Me too.

I hit send on the message, and shoved the phone into my jean pocket.

“Finally!” Mother exclaimed when I walked through the door into the parlour. “Is it all men that waste time dressing up, or just men like you?” She said this with a smile to take away the sting.

I humphed at her, as I took in her appearance, taken aback by how overdressed she looked. Her hair was done up, and her softly plump body was clad in a short black dress, her feet encased in black Louie Vuitton stilettos, and her hand holding on to a glowing D&G bag.

I did an exaggerated double take, before saying, “Forgive me, but I thought we were going to the hospital. Did you change your mind and decide we had to go to the Governor’s Ball instead?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” she said. “You like?” And my fifty-something-year-old pregnant mother did a small pirouette before me, like she was some Kardashian model on the runway.

“Yes, but isn’t it a little too much?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mum, you’re going for an ultrasound, not a gala night in Aso Rock.”

“Not all of us like to dress like cartoon characters,” she jabbed, while gesturing at my jean three-quarter-length shorts and T-shirt. “Seriously, who wears things like this anymore?”

“Every other twenty-five-year-old guy,” I sallied back.

“And the backpack?” she fired. “Are you ever going to stop looking like you’re still headed for the secondary school classroom?” Her lips twitched with her amusement.

I glowered before saying, “Let’s just go joor!”

She turned around and headed toward the front door. Her hand was on the door knob when a thought dropped into my mind.

“Mum, which hospital are we going to again?”

She turned to me, not opening the door in the process. “Central Hospital, of course. Why…” Her words faded out when she saw the expression on my face. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking because of –”

“No, no, no. It’s not that. It’s just…”

“What are you, afraid that Jude will suddenly decide to wake up from the coma he’s been in for eleven days when you get there? Or is it because of Janet?”

“No, it’s not about any of that,” I lied.

“Good,” she replied, not believing me, “because you shouldn’t be scared of him waking up and anything that might come as a result of that. The same goes for Janet. I’d like to believe we’ve ironed our differences with her.”

And without another word, she pulled the door open.

We both stepped outside into the verandah. Beyond the door, we didn’t see the compound, with its graveled ground, or the neighbours’ cars parked sedately here and there, or the soft sunniness of the morning sky. No.

Blocking out all that were two uniformed men who looked like they’d just being about to get on to my verandah and knock on my door. One was below average height, stoutly built and young looking, and the other was very tall with a prominent moustache.

Even though I was unfamiliar with whom these men were, an inexplicable fear suddenly blossomed inside me, especially when I took in the wooden looks on their faces. Plus they were the police!

Oh my God, Ryan Bassey, you double-crossing, vindictive bastard!

“Yes?” Mother enquired politely when we stood face to face with them.

“Good morning, madam,” said the tall, mustachioed man. He looked like he was the one in charge. “We are looking for Mr. Kevin Achike.”

“That’s me,” I managed to say through vocal chords that were rapidly freezing up with fear.

“I am Detective Abayomi,” he said, turning to me. “And this is Sergeant Chuks. We’re with the Nigerian Bureau of Investigation.” He held up his badge to our faces as the other officer proceeded to remove the handcuff connected to his belt. At a nod from Abayomi, he grabbed me by the shoulder and began shoving my back around to face him.

“What the hell do you people think you’re doing?” Mother yelled, instantly bridling at the officer’s manhandling of me. “Will you stop that! Don’t you dare touch my son!” She snatched at the officer’s hand on my shoulder.

“Madam,” Abayomi said firmly, “please step away.”

“Why? He’s my son! You can’t just come here and start manhandling people anyhow!”

“He’s under arrest, madam.”

Oh my God! My heart sank like a block of cement to the bottom of my stomach.

“For what?!” my mother yelled in an outraged tone. She maintained her struggle to retrieve my body from Sergeant Chuks, who was trying to snap the cuffs around my wrists. I remained curiously immobile, helpless to fight what I’d started when I dared to blackmail a powerful man.

“What did he do? Leave my son alone! You can’t arrest him!”

“He’s under arrest for complicity in the attempted murder of Mister Jude Walters.”

Wait – WHAT?!

The words of protest must have dropped out of my mouth, because the detective continued, “Kindly remain silent, Mr. Achike, because anything you say can and will be used against you in the Court of Law. You have the right to an attorney…”

As he continued reading my rights to me, while his partner pulled me in the direction of the police van parked outside the compound, I looked on with abject shock. My mind was blank, unaffected by my mother’s loud distress and the curious looks of the neighbours as they stepped out unto their verandahs to see what was interrupting their mornings.

Under arrest for complicity in the attempted murder of Mister Jude Walters?! I found myself reeling. Who was doing this to me? Janet? Chief Bassey? Some other enemy I didn’t know I had? And why? WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON?!

Written by Reverend Hot